That Boy (7 page)

Touchdown!

It was brilliant, really, and pure Danny. Sometimes I wonder if he's not challenged enough because when he really wants something, it's like this light clicks on, and Wonder Boy comes out, and he goes into
Can't Be Stopped
mode. In this mode, I have seen him make amazing plays. He's a very talented quarterback, and that would be a great play to put on his scout tape. Every college in the country would want him.

Okay, so I might be a bit biased, but a lot of colleges already do. Notre Dame, Nebraska, USC, Ohio State, and Oklahoma. He verbally committed to play at Nebraska, but still has a couple more recruiting visits to make. I don't think he'll change his mind though. He's wanted to be a Husker since he was a little boy.

After the game, Danny, Phillip, and I come home early, as in
way
before curfew, to sit in the hot tub at my house. The boys stopped off at their houses to throw on their swimsuits. As I'm walking over to my house from Phillip's, I realize there is noise coming from my back yard.

It's music. 80's hair band ballads, I think.

Tragic.

Then I hear a man and a woman's laughter.

I stop.

Oh.

I see that it's dark in the backyard, and I know my parents probably aren't expecting me home this early. I mean, it is a full hour and 38 minutes before my curfew, and I am NEVER early. I probably shouldn't just barge in on them. I wouldn't want them to barge

in on me, but of course they would. And I am adult enough to understand that parents,
you know
, but it is just something I refuse to think about.

I mean, yuck.

Gross.

I reconsider going back there. I certainly don't want to barge in on them and see something that could very well scar me for life. As I get a little closer, I realize that there are numerous voices laughing.

Whew, they're not alone. I'll just kick them all out of the back yard, so we can use the hot tub.

It's late, they're old, and it's like so way past their bedtime.

Okay, so it's not that late, and they're not
that
old.

I decide it's safe to go through the gate and am just opening it, when I catch a whiff of something. At first, I wonder if they have a fire going, but then I notice it has a sweet smell to it, like burning hay.

NO WAY!

What I see when I bound through the gate is almost too freakish to describe. Our parents are all in our hot tub.

Naked.

There are empty Corona bottles scattered all over the edge of the hot tub.

Glass bottles, I might add.

GLASS!!

How many
millions
of times have I been told to
never
have glass by the hot tub because if a glass broke in the tub, you could never get it all out, and the whole thing would be ruined!

Obviously, these rules don't apply to our parents.

Then I notice that Phillip's Dad, Mr. Mac, is taking a hit off a joint.

Ah. There it is.

They are all laughing at something and are apparently already half-baked. I'm practically standing in the water with them, and they
still
have not acknowledged my presence.

Hello?

Naked parents.

Pot.

Alcohol.

I may very well be traumatized by all of this.

Somebody wanna call a shrink?

Just as I am about to say something, Mr. Diamond stands up to grab another beer.

Yikes.

I close my eyes real quick. There's no way I need to see this man naked.
I don't want to see him naked.
But I peek anyway,
cuz come on
, he looks like Danny - All Grown Up. I open my eyes and see him standing there in all his glory.

In a swimsuit.

DANG!

I look a little closer and realize they are not naked after all. I can see some stringy things tied around Mom's neck.

But still. Pot. They are so busted.

I jump onto the hot tub stairs and say, “So kids,
this
is what goes on when I'm not here. You are all so grounded.”

Mom chokes on her Corona. Phillip's dad nearly swallows the joint. Everyone else, my father included, is giggling. My father laughs often, yes, but NEVER giggles. They seem to think this is hysterical.

Okay, so I have to tell you, this is not exactly the picture I had in my mind of what my parents do to while away the time until I get home. I mean sometimes I picture them sitting in matching rocking chairs, rocking and pacing, checking their watches with worry, counting down the seconds till I'm home safely.

Lately though, I picture them as wild referees with stopwatches and big whistles.

Last Saturday, I was coming in the door
very quietly
,
not sneaking in, mind you
, but just trying to be polite and not disturb them, when it's like this huge prison spot light comes glaring on me, and Dad jumps out of nowhere. He blows a referee's whistle at me and a scoreboard buzzer goes off as he says, “
Jadyn, you are twelve and half minutes late
.”

“According to whom?” I ask politely. “My watch,”
which I may have set back ten minutes or so
, “says I'm right on time.”

“According to NASA, that's who,” Dad says, pointing to the GPS, satellite-tracking watch thingy he has.

Anyway, it's just that I don't really picture them having a life without me. I mean, I know they get together with friends to watch movies or play cards. I can picture them chatting or killing time watching Storm Stories.

But certainly not smoking and boozing it up in my hot tub.

Okay, so it's not really mine. I just like to think that it is.

Dad laughs and asks why I am home so early. “Fight with Brian?”

“No, Dad. It's Friday night. Friend night, remember?”

“Oh, I do!” says Phillip's mom, Julie. “I used to
love
girlfriend night. We would always go out and look for cute boys.”

I shake my head and figure I better say something quick, or we'll all be launched on a full-scale trip down memory lane. So I change the subject by saying, “I hope someone is going to tell me that you're all suffering from glaucoma.”

The parents chuckle at this and apparently are not the least bit embarrassed about being caught by me with a joint.

I can tell you that if the tables were turned, I'd be in big trouble.

And excuse me, but isn't this illegal?

“The boys and I came home early, so we could sit in the hot tub.” I turn to look at Danny's parents and say, “You know, your son took quite a beating out there tonight and is really sore.” I'm trying to make them feel guilty. “But I guess since it's obviously
occupied
, we'll just hang over at Danny's.”

“What are you guys gonna do?” Dad asks me, more politely than normal.

I pause and think,
what the hell
, and then grab three Coronas and a lime from the cooler. Bold, I know, but what are they gonna do, stop me?

“Well Dad, we'll probably start with these beers, have a few shots, do a little x, have some wild sex. You know, the usual.” I give him my eat shit grin.

“Fine,” Dad says, rolling his eyes at me.

Everyone laughs. Um, well actually, everyone giggles.

What? You think I'm joking?

Sadly, I am. I am also a little irritated by this whole scene. I mean don't you
ever
grow up? Shouldn't
I
be the one out getting stoned and drunk with
my
friends?

Sadly, my parent's social party life far surpasses mine.

That thought is very pathetic and totally tragic.

I start to head to Danny's, but turn back around and say, “And tomorrow, when you're all sober,” I wave one of my fingers back and forth at them, while trying not to drop the beers, “I think we need to revisit the whole
Just Say No
concept.”

I run over to Danny's house and bang on the back door with my elbow.

Phillip lets me in. Phillip and Danny are both standing there in just their swim trunks.

Damn.

It's like walking into an Abercrombie ad. Did I mention I love my life right now?

“We're just grabbing some towels,” Phillip tells me.

I set the Coronas and lime on the kitchen island.

“Sweet,” says Phillip, “my parents left me a note that said they were over at your house. What's going on over there?”

“Oh nothing much, they're all in the hot tub. Naked, drunk and baked,” I reply flatly.

“No way!” says Phillip, his eyes big.

“Okay, so they're not naked, but at first I thought they were,” I smile, but the boys don't seem as appalled by our parents' behavior as I am, so I open the beers and grab a knife out of the drawer. I slice lime wedges, put one in each beer and hand them to the boys.

“So no hot tub?” Danny asks crabbily, as he takes a swig of beer. “Figures.”

“Let's watch a movie then,” Phillip suggests, as he pulls a sweatshirt over his head. He turns to me with a sweet grin. “And you can make us some popcorn and nachos.”

Like I can't turn him down when he grins at me.

Well
actually, I can't
.

“Let me guess, American Pie for the hundred-millionth time?” I ask, knowing full well what the answer will be.

I make snacks, and we head toward the family room. I notice that Danny is moving very slowly. He's obviously sore, and he seems to be irritable. Unusual for him after a big game, especially a game he won practically single handily with his sheer will. I'd expect him to be flying high.

“What's wrong with you?” I ask him. “You had such an incredible game. Why are you being such a crab?”

“It was a rough game,” he snarls at me, and then softer, “I'm just kind of sore, I guess.”

I plop down on the couch between the boys.

“Do you want me to rub your back?” I ask Danny nicely. Lots of times after a game, we'll watch movies and I'll rub Danny or Phillip's shoulders. I doubt Phillip is at all sore. He's Danny's number one receiver, but he got double-teamed all night and only got open in the flats. (Close in to the line of scrimmage, not way down field like usual.) That's why it was such a tough game. Most teams can't shut down the Danny and Phillip combination, but tonight they did. Because they have played together so much, it's like Danny always knows where Phillip is going to be, even before he gets there. They make some amazing plays together and have a lot of confidence in each other. It's really pretty cool to watch.

About midway through the movie, I say something to Danny and he snaps at me. “
What?
”

“Jeez, Danny, I just asked if you took some Advil.”

“No,” he says a little nicer.

“I'll grab you some,” I say, and pat his forearm reassuringly.

He practically jumps off the couch when I touch his arm.

“What is wrong with you?” I yell.

“
I'm just a little sore there!
”

I squint my eyes at that boy. What's going on?

“Danny, let me see your arm.”

He sighs madly, but gingerly holds it up for me.

I examine his forearm. No wonder he's such a crab. His arm is quite swollen. So I touch it very gently, and crap, it feels hot to the touch.

This is not good.

And the skin is all shiny looking.

Just a little sore
, my ass.

This arm is broken.

“Danny!!! No wonder you're being such a butt. Your arm is broken.”

My screeching gets Phillip's attention away from the TV, where a hot girl is taking off her shirt.

“Did it happen on that last play? When you stiff-armed that guy? His helmet hit your arm, didn't it?” Phillip asks in rapid-fire succession.

“Um, yeah. I think so,” Danny mutters, then he turns to me and says, “It can't be broken, Jay. Coach thought it was just bruised.”

“Yeah, well, I hate to tell you this, Danny, but he's
wrong
.”